The gold strike which led the fortune-hunters to Murrayville broughtwith them the usual proportion of bad men and outlaws. Three monthsafter the rush started a bandit appeared so consummate in skill and socool in daring that all other offenders against the law disappeared inthe shade of his reputation. He was a public dread. His comings wereunannounced; his goings left no track. Men lowered their voices whenthey spoke of him. His knowledge of affairs in the town was so uncannythat people called him the "Ghost."

The stages which bore gold to the railroad one hundred and thirty milesto the south left at the most secret hours of the night, but the Ghostknew. Once he "stuck up" the stage not a mile from town while the guardswere still occupied with their flasks of snakebite. Again, when thestage rolled on at midday, eighty miles south of Murrayville, and theguards nodded in the white-hot sun, the Ghost rose from behind a bush,shot the near-leader, and had the cargo at his mercy in thirty seconds.

He performed these feats with admirable _finesse._ Not a single deathlay charged to his account, for he depended upon surprise rather thanslaughter. Yet so heavy was the toll he exacted that the miners passedfrom fury to desperation.

They organized a vigilance committee. They put a price on his head.Posses scoured the region of his hiding-place, Hunter's Cañon, intowhich he disappeared when hard pressed, and left no more trace than themorning mist which the sun disperses. A hundred men combed the myriadrecesses of the cañon in vain. Their efforts merely stimulated thebandit.

While twoscore men rode almost within calling distance, the Ghostappeared in the moonlight before Pat McDonald and Peters and robbed themof eighteen pounds of gold-dust which they carried in their belts. Whenthe vigilance committee got word of this insolent outrage they called amass-meeting so large that even drunken Geraldine was enrolled.

Never in the history of Murrayville had there been so grave anddry-throated an affair. William Collins, the head of the vigilantes,addressed the assembly. He rehearsed the list of the Ghost's outrages,pointed out that what the community needed was an experienced man-hunterto direct their efforts, and ended by asking Silver Pete to stand upbefore them. After some urging Pete rose and stood beside Collins, withhis hat pushed back from his gray and tousled forelock and both handstugging at his cartridge-belt.

"Men," went on Collins, placing one hand on the shoulder of theman-killer, "we need a leader who is a born and trained fighter, a manwho will attack the Ghost with system and never stop after he takes upthe trail. And I say the man we need is Silver Pete!"

Pete's mouth twitched back on one side into the faint semblance of agrin, and he shrugged off the patronizing hand of the speaker. Theaudience stirred, caught each other with side-glances, and then staredback at Silver Pete. His reputation gave even Murrayville pause, for hisreputed killings read like the casualty list of a battle.

"I repeat," said Collins, after the pause, in which he allowed his firststatement to shudder its way home, "that Silver Pete is the man for us.I've talked it over with him before this, and he'll take the job, but heneeds an inducement. Here's the reward I propose for him or for anyother man who succeeds in taking the Ghost prisoner or in killing him.We'll give him any loot which may be on the person of the bandit. If theGhost is disposed of in the place where he has cached his plunder, thefinder gets it all. It's a high price to pay, but this thing has to bestopped. My own opinion is that the Ghost is a man who does his robbingon the side and lives right here among us. If that's the case, we'llleave it to Silver Pete to find him out, and we'll obey Pete's orders.He's the man for us. He's done work like this before. He has a straighteye, and he's fast with his six-gun. If you want to know Pete'sreputation as a fighting man--"

"He'll tell you himself," said a voice, and a laugh followed.

Silver Pete scowled in the direction of the laugh, and his right handcaressed the butt of his gun, but two miners rose from the crowd holdinga slender fellow between them.

"It's only Geraldine," said one of them. "There ain't no call to flashyour gun, Pete."

"Take the drunken fool away," ordered Collins angrily. "Who let him inhere? This is a place for men and not for girl-faced clowns!"

"I plumb forgot I was in church with Silver Pete for a preacher!" hewent on.

The audience turned their heads and chuckled deeply.

"Take him out, will you?" thundered Collins. "Take him out, or I'll comedown there and kick him out myself!"

The two men at Geraldine's side turned him about and led him toward thedoor. Here he struggled away from his guides. "Misher Collins!" he criedin a voice half-whining and half-anger, "if I capture the Ghost do _I_get the loot?"

A yell of laughter drowned the reply, and Geraldine staggered from theroom.

"What do you say, men?" roared Collins, enraged by these repeatedinterruptions. "Is Silver Pete the man for us?"

"But what do you want us to do, Pete?" asked Collins. "How are we goingto help you?"

"Sit tight and chaw your own tobacco," he said amiably. "I don't want noadvice. There's been too many posses around these diggin's. Maybe I'llstart and hunt the Ghost by myself. Maybe I won't. If I want help I'llcome askin' it."

As a sign that the meeting had terminated he pulled his hat farther downover his eyes, hitched his belt, and stalked through the crowd withoutlooking to either side.

Thereafter Murrayville saw nothing of him for a month, during which theGhost appeared five times and escaped unscathed. The community ponderedand sent out to find Pete, but the search was vain. There were those whoheld that he must have been shot down in his tracks by the Ghost, andeven now decorated some lank hillside. The majority felt that havingundertaken his quest alone Pete was ashamed to appear in the townwithout his victim.

On the subject of the quest Geraldine composed a ballad which he sang tomuch applause in the eight saloons of the town. It purported to be thenarrative of Silver Pete's wanderings in search of the Ghost. In singingit Geraldine borrowed a revolver and belt from one of the bystanders,pushed back his hat and roughed up his hair, and imitated the scowlingface of Pete so exactly that his hearers fairly wept with pleasure. Hesang his ballad to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne," and the sad narrativeconcluded with a wailing stanza:

"I don't expect no bloomin' tears; The only thing I ask Is something for a monument In the way of a whisky flask."

Geraldine sang himself into popularity and many drinks with his song,and for the first time the miners began to take him almost seriously. Hehad appeared shortly after old John Murray struck gold six monthsbefore, a slender man of thirty-five, with a sadly drooping mouth andhumorous eyes.

He announced himself as Gerald Le Roy Witherstone, and was, of course,immediately christened "Geraldine."

Thereafter he wandered about the town, with no apparent occupationexcept to sing for his drinks in the saloons. Hitherto he had beenaccepted as a harmless and amusing man-child, but his ballad gave him atonce an Homeric repute, particularly when men remembered that the songwas bound to come sooner or later to the ear of Silver Pete.

For the time being Pete was well out of ear-shot. After the meeting, atwhich he was installed chief man-hunter of the community, he spent mostof the evening equipping himself for the chase. Strangely enough, he didnot hang a second revolver to his belt nor strap a rifle behind hissaddle; neither did he mount a fleet horse. To pursue the elusive Ghosthe bought a dull-eyed mule with a pendulous lower lip. On the mule hestrapped a heavy pack which consisted chiefly of edibles, and in themiddle of the night he led the mule out of Murrayville in such a way asto evade observation. Once clear of the town he headed straight forHunter's Cañon.

Once inside the mouth of the cañon he began his search. While he workedhe might have been taken for a prospector, for there was not a big rockin the whole course of the cañon which he did not examine from allsides. There was not a gully running into Hunter's which he did notexamine carefully. He climbed up and down the cliffs on either side asif he suspected that the Ghost might take to wings and fly up the sheerrock to a cave.

The first day he progressed barely a half-mile. The second day hecovered even less ground. So his search went on. In the night he built afire behind a rock and cooked. Through four weeks his labor continuedwithout the vestige of a clue to reward him. Twice during that time hesaw posses go thundering through the valley and laughed to himself. Theydid not even find him, and yet he was making no effort to elude them.What chance would they have of surprising the Ghost?

This thought encouraged him, and he clung to the invisible trail,through the day and through the night, with the vision of the outlaw'sloot before him. He ran out of bacon. Even his coffee gave out. For tendays he lived on flour, salt, and water, and then, as if this saintlyfast were necessary before the vision, Pete saw the Ghost.

It was after sunset, but the moon was clear when he saw the fantom riderrace along the far side of the valley. The turf deadened the sound ofthe horse's hoofs, and, like another worldly apparition, the Ghostgalloped close to the wall of the valley--and disappeared.

Peter rubbed his eyes and looked again. It give him a queer sensation,as if he had awakened suddenly from a vivid dream, for the horse, withits rider, had vanished into thin air between the eyes of Peter and thesheer rock of the valley wall. A little shudder passed through his body,and he cursed softly to restore his courage.

Yet the dream of plunder sent his blood hotly back upon its course. Hecarefully observed the marks which should guide him to the point on therock at which the rider disappeared. He hobbled the mule, examined hisrevolver, and spun the cylinder, and then started down across the cañon.

He had camped upon high ground, and his course led him on a sharpdescent to the stream which cut the heart of the valley. Here, for twohundred yards, trees and the declivity of the ground cut off his view,but when he came to the higher ground again he found that he hadwandered only a few paces to the left of his original course.

The wall of the valley was now barely fifty yards away, and as nearly ashe could reckon the landmarks, the point at which the rider vanished wasat or near a shrub which grew close against the rock. For an instantPete thought that the tree might be a screen placed before the entranceof a cave. Yet the rider had made no pause to set aside the screen. Hewalked up to it and peered beneath the branches. He even fumbled at thebase of the trunk, to make sure that the roots actually entered theearth. After this faint hope disappeared, Pete stepped back and sighed.His reason vowed that it was at this point that the horse turned to air,and Pete's was not a nature which admitted the supernatural.

He turned to the left and walked along the face of the cliff for fiftypaces. It was solid rock. A chill like a moving piece of ice went upPete's back.

He returned to the shrub and passed around it to the right.

At first he thought it merely the black shadow of the shrub. He steppedcloser and then crouched with his revolver raised, for before him openeda crevice directly behind the shrub. It was a trifle over six feet highand less than half that in width; a man could walk through that apertureand lead a horse. Pete entered the passage with cautious steps.

Between each step he paused and listened. He put forth a foot and feltthe ground carefully with it, for fear of a pebble which might rollbeneath his weight, or a twig which might snap. His progress was sopainfully slow that he could not even estimate distances in thepitch-dark. The passage grew higher and wider--it turned sharply to theright--a faint light shone.

Pete crouched lower and the grin of expectancy twisted at his lips. Atevery step, until this moment; he had scarcely dared to breathe, forfear of the bullet which might find him out. Now all the advantage wason his side. Behind him was the dark. Before him was the light whichmust outline, however faintly, the figure of any one who lurked in wait.With these things in mind he went on more rapidly. The passage widenedagain and turned to the left. He peered cautiously around the edge ofrock and looked into as comfortable a living-room as he had ever seen.

The rock hung raggedly from the top of the cave, but the sides weresmooth from the action of running water through long, dead ages. Thefloor was of level-packed gravel. Silver Pete remained crouched at thesharp angle of the passage until he heard the stamp and snort of ahorse. It gave him heart and courage to continue the stealthy progress,inch by inch, foot by foot, pace by pace toward the light, and as hestole forward more and more of the cave developed before him.

A tall and sinewy horse was tethered at one end, and at the oppositeside sat a man with his back to Pete, who leveled his revolver and drewa bead on a spot between the shoulder blades. Yet he did not fire, forthe thought came to him that if it were an honor to track the Ghost tohis abode and kill him, it would be immortal glory to bring back thebandit alive, a concrete testimony to his own prowess.

Once more that catlike progress began until he could see that the Ghostsat on his saddle in front of a level-topped boulder in lieu of a table.The air was filled with the sweet savor of fried bacon and coffee. Petehad crawled to the very edge of the cave when the horse threw up itshead and snorted loudly. The Ghost straightened and tilted back his headto listen.

"Up with yer hands!" snarled Silver Pete.

He had his bead drawn and his forefinger tightened around the trigger,but the Ghost did not even turn. His hands raised slowly above hisshoulders to the level of his head and remained there.

"Stand up!" said Pete, and rose himself from the ground, against whichhe had flattened himself. For if the Ghost had decided to try a quickplay with his gun the shot in nine cases out of ten would travelbreast-high.

"Turn around!" ordered Pete, feeling more and more sure of himself as hestudied the slight proportions of the outlaw.

The Ghost turned and showed a face with a sad mouth and humorous eyes.

"By God!" cried Silver Pete, and took a pace back which brought hisshoulders against the wall of rock, "Geraldine!"

If the Ghost had had his gun on his hip he could have shot Pete tentimes during that moment of astonishment, but his belt and revolver hungon a jutting rock five paces away. He dropped his hands to his hips andsmiled at his visitor.

"When they put you on the job, Pete," he said, "I had a hunch I shouldbeat it."

At this inferred compliment the twisted smile transformed one side ofSilver Pete's face with sinister pleasure, but there was still wonder inhis eyes.

"Damn me, Geraldine," he growled, "I can't believe my eyes!"

Geraldine smiled again.

"Oh, it's me, all right," he nodded. "You got me dead to rights, Pete.What do you think the boys will do with me?"

"And you're--the Ghost?" sighed Silver Pete, pushing back his hat asthough to give his thoughts freer play. He had met many a man of grimrepute along the "border," but never such nonchalance as he found in theGhost.

"What'll they do with you?" he repeated, "I dunno. You ain't pluggednobody, Geraldine. I reckon they'll ship you South and let the sheriffhandle you. Git away from that gun!"

For Geraldine had stepped back with apparent unconcern until he stoodwithin a yard of his revolver. He obeyed the orders with unshaken goodhumor, but it seemed to Silver Pete that a yellow light gleamed for aninstant in the eyes of the Ghost. It was probably only a reflection fromthe light of the big torch that burned in a corner of the cave.

"Gun?" grinned Geraldine. "Say, Pete, do you think I'd try and gunplaywhile _you_ have the drop on me?"

He laughed.

"Nope," he went on. "If you was one of those tinhorn gunmen from thetown over yonder, I'd lay you ten to one I could drill you and make agetaway, but you ain't one of them, Pete, and, seeing it's you, I ain'tgoing to try no funny stuff. I don't hanker after no early grave, Pete!"

This tribute set a placid glow of satisfaction in Pete's eyes.

"Take it from me, Geraldine," he said, "you're wise. But there ain't noneed for you to get scared of me so long as you play the game square anddon't try no fancy moves. Now show me where you got the loot stowed andshow it quick. If you don't--"

The threat was unfinished, for Geraldine nodded.

"Sure I'll show it to you, Pete," he said. "I know when I got a handthat's worth playing, and I ain't a guy to bet a measly pair of treysagainst a full house. Take a slant over there behind the rock and you'llfind it all."

He indicated a pile of stones of all sizes which lay heaped in a corner.Pete backed toward it with his eye still upon the Ghost. A few kicksscattered the rocks and exposed several small bags. When he stirredthese with his foot their weight was eloquent, and the gun-fighter'ssmile broadened.

"Think of them tin-horns," he said, "that offered all your pickings tothe man that got you dead or alive, Geraldine!"

The Ghost sighed.

"Easy pickings," he agreed. "No more strong-arm work for you, Pete!"

The jaw of Silver Pete set sternly again.

"Lead your hoss over here," he said, "and help me stow this stuff in thesaddlebags. And if you make a move to get the hoss between me and you--"

The Ghost grinned in assent, saddled his mount, and led him to Pete.Then in obedience to orders he unbuckled the slicker strapped behind thesaddle and converted it into a strong bag which easily held the bags ofloot. It made a small but ponderous burden, and he groaned with theeffort as he heaved it up behind the saddle and secured it. Pete tookthe bridle and gestured at the Ghost with the revolver.

"Now git your hands up over your head agin, Geraldine," he said, "and goout down the tunnel about three paces ahead of me."

"Better let me take the torch," suggested the Ghost, "it'll show us theway."

Pete grunted assent, and Geraldine, on his way toward the torch, stoppedat the boulder to finish off his coffee. He turned to Pete with the cuppoised at his lips.

"Say, Pete," he said genially. "Anything wrong with a cup of coffee anda slice of bacon before we start back?"

Nevertheless his very soul yearned toward the savor of bacon and coffee.

"Game?" repeated the Ghost, who caught the gleam of Pete's eye. "Whatgame? I say let's start up the coffee-pot and the frying-pan. I can turnout flapjacks browner than the ones mother used to make, Pete!"

Pete drew a great breath, for the taste of his flour and water diet ofthe past few days was sour in his mouth.

"Geraldine," he said at last, "it's a go! But if you try any funnypasses I ain't going to wait for explanations. Slide out the chow!"

He rolled a large stone close to the boulder which served asdining-table to the bandit, and sat down to watch the preparations. TheGhost paid little attention to him, but hummed as he worked. Soon a firesnapped and crackled. The coffee can straddled one end of the fire; thefrying-pan occupied the other. While the bacon fried he mixedself-rising pancake flour in a tin plate, using water from a tiny streamwhich trickled down from the rocks at one side of the cave, disappearingagain through a fissure in the floor. Next he piled the crisp slices ofbacon on a second tin plate and used the fried-out fat to cook theflapjacks.

"What I can't make out," said Geraldine, without turning to his guest,"is why you'd do this job for those yellow livers over in the town."

Pete moved the tip of his tongue across his lips, for his mouth wateredin anticipation.

"Why, you poor nut," he answered compassionately, "I ain't working forthem. I'm working for the stuff that's up there behind the saddle."

Geraldine turned on him so suddenly that Pete tightened his grip uponthe revolver, but the Ghost merely stared at him.

"Say," he grinned at last, "have you got a hunch they'll really let youwalk off with all that loot?"

The face of the gunman darkened.

"I sure think they'll let me," he said with a sinister emphasis. "Thatwas the way they talked."

Geraldine sighed in apparent bewilderment, but turned back to his workwithout further comment. In a few moments he rose with the plates ofbacon and flapjacks piled on his left arm and the can of coffee in hisright hand. He arranged them on the boulder before Silver Pete, and thensat on his heels on the other side of the big stone. The gun-fighterlaid his revolver beside his tin cup and attacked the food with the willof ten. Yet even while he ate the eye which continually lingered on theGhost noted that the latter stared at him with a curious and almostpitying interest. He came to a pause at last, with a piece of baconfolded in a flapjack.

The Ghost answered nothing, but the shrug of his shoulders was eloquent.Pete started up with his gun in his hand.

"By God, Geraldine," he said, "you ain't playin' fair with me! Look whatI done for you. Any other man would of plugged you the minute they seenyou, but here I am lettin' you walk back safe and sound--treating you asif you was my own brother, almost!"

He hesitated a trifle over this simile. Legend told many things of whatSilver Pete had done to his own brother. Nevertheless, Geraldine met hisstare with an eye full as serious.

"I'm going to do it," he said in a low voice, as if talking to himself."Just because you come out here and caught me like a man there ain't noreason I should stand by and see you made a joke of. Pete, I'm going totell you!"

Pete settled back on his stone with his fingers playing nervously aboutthe handle of his gun.

"Make it short, Geraldine," he said with an ominous softness. "Tell mewhat the wall-eyed cayuses figure on doin'!"

The Ghost studied him as if he found some difficulty in opening hisstory in a delicate manner.

"Look here, Pete," he said at last. "There ain't no getting out of itthat some of the things you've done read considerable different fromBible stories."

"Well?" snarled Silver Pete.

"Well," said the Ghost, "those two-card Johnnies over to town knowsomething of what you've done, and they figure to double-cross you."

He paused, and in the pause Pete's mouth twitched so that his teethglinted yellow.

"Anybody could say that," he remarked. "What's your proof?"

"Proof?" echoed the Ghost angrily. "Do you think I'm telling you thisfor fun? No, Pete," he continued with a hint of sadness in his voice,"it's because I don't want to see those guys do you dirt. You're a realman and they're only imitation-leather. The only way they're tough istheir talk."

"Damn them!" commented Pete.

"Well," said Geraldine, settling into the thread of his narrative, "theyknew that once you left the town on this job you wouldn't come backuntil you had the Ghost. Then when you started they got together andfigured this way. They said you was just a plain man-killer and that youhadn't any more right to the reward than the man in the moon. So theyfigured that right after you got back with the Ghost, dead or alive,they'd have the sheriff pay you a little visit and stick you in thecoop. They've raked up plenty of charges against you, Peter."

"What?" asked Pete hoarsely.

The Ghost lowered his voice to an insinuating whisper.

"One thing is this. They say that once you went prospecting with a guycalled Red Horry. Horace was his right name."

Silver Pete shifted his eyes and his lips fixed in a sculptured grin.

"They say that you went with him and that you was pals together formonths at a time. They say once you were bit by a rattler and Red Horrystuck by you and saved you and hunted water for you and cared for youlike a baby. They say you got well and went on prospecting together andfinally he struck a mine. It looked rich. Then one day you come back toTruckee and say that Red Horry got caught in a landslide and was killedand you took the mine. And they say that two years later they found askeleton, and through the skull, right between the eyes, was a littleround hole, powerful like a hole made by a .45. They say--"

"They lie!" yelled Silver Pete, rising. "And you lie like the rest ofthem. I tell you it was--it was--"

"Huh!" said Geraldine, shrugging away the thought with apparent scorn."Of course they lie. Nobody could look at you and think you'd plug apal--not for nothing."

Pete dropped back to his stone.

"Go on," he said. "What else do they say?"

"I don't remember it all," said the Ghost, puckering his brows with theeffort of recollection, "but they got it all planned out when you comeback with the loot they'll take it and split it up betweenthem--one-third to Collins, because he made the plan first.

"They even made up a song about you," went on Geraldine, "and the songmakes a joke out of you all the way through, and it winds up likethis--you're supposed to be talking, see?

"I don't expect no bloomin' tears; The only thing I ask Is something for a monument In the way of a whisky flask."

"And it was Collins," went on the Ghost, leaning a little forward acrossthe boulder, while he lowered his voice for secrecy. "It was Collins whogot them to send out three men to watch you from a distance. They was totrail you and see that if you ever got to the Ghost you didn't make offwith the loot without showing up in town. Ever see anybody trailing you,Pete?"

The gun-fighter flashed a glance over his shoulder toward the dark andgaping opening of the passage from the cave. Then he turned back to theGhost.

"I never thought of it," he whispered. "I didn't know they was suchskunks. But, by God, they won't ever see the money! I'll take it andline out for new hunting grounds."

"And me?" asked the Ghost anxiously.

"You?" said Silver Pete, and the whisper made the words trebly sinister."I can't leave you free to track me up, can I? I'll just tie you up andleave you here."

"To starve?" asked the Ghost with horror.

"You chose your own house," said Pete, "an" now I reckon it's goodenough for you to live in it."

"But what'll you do if they're following you up?" suggested the Ghost."What'll you do if they've tracked you here and the sheriff with them?What if they get you for Red Horry?"

The horse had wandered a few paces away. Now its hoof struck a loosepebble which turned with a crunching sound like a footfall.

The gun-fighter whirled to his feet, his weapon poised and his back tothe Ghost. Geraldine drew back his arm and lunged forward across theboulder. His fist thudded behind Silver Pete's ear. The revolverexploded and the bullet clicked against a rock, while Pete collapsedupon his face, with his arms spread out crosswise. The Ghost tied hiswrists behind his back with a small piece of rope. Silver Pete groanedand stirred, but before his brain cleared his ankles were bound fast anddrawn up to his wrists, so that he lay trussed and helpless. The Ghostturned him upon one side and then, strangely enough, set about clearingup the tinware from the boulder. This he piled back in its niche afterhe had rinsed it at the runlet of water. A string of oaths announced theawakening of Silver Pete. Geraldine went to him and leaned over hisbody.

Pete writhed and cursed, but Geraldine kneeled down and brushed the sandout of the gun-fighter's hair and face. Then he wiped the blood from asmall cut on his chin where his face struck a rock when he fell.

"I have to leave you now, Pete," he said, rising from this work ofmercy. "You've been good company, Pete, but a little of you goes a longway."

He led his horse slowly down the passage, and the shouts and pleadingsof Silver Pete died out behind him. At the mouth of the passage hisgreatest shout rang no louder than the hum of a bee.

Grimly silent was the conclave in Billy Hillier's saloon. That evening,while the sunset was still red in the west, the Ghost had stopped thestage scarcely a mile from Murrayville, shot the sawed-off shotgun outof the very hands of the only guard who dared to raise a weapon, and hadtaken a valuable packet of the "dust." They sent out a posse at once,which rode straight for Hunter's Cañon, and arrived there just in timeto see the fantom horseman disappear in the mouth of the ravine. Theyhad matched speed with that rider before, and they gave up the vainpursuit. That night they convened in Hillier's, ostensibly to talk overnew plans for apprehending the outlaw, but they soon discovered thatnothing new could be said. Even Collins was silent, twisting his glassof whisky between his fingers and scowling at his neighbors along thebar. It was small wonder, therefore, if not a man smiled when a singingvoice reached them from a horseman who cantered down the street:

"I don't expect no bloomin' tears; The only thing I ask Is something for a monument In the way of a whisky flask."

The sound of the gallop died out before the saloon, the door opened, andGeraldine staggered into the room, carrying a small but apparentlyponderous burden in his arms. He lifted it to the bar which creakedunder the weight.

"Step up and liquor!" cried Geraldine in a ringing voice. "I got theGhost!"

A growl answered him. It was a topic over which they were not preparedto laugh.

"Get out and tell that to your hoss, son," said one miner. "We got otherthings to think about than your damfoolery."

"Damfoolery?" echoed Geraldine. "Step up and look at the loot! Dust,boys, real dust!"

He untied the mouth of a small buckskin bag and shoved it under the noseof the man who had spoken to him. The latter jumped back with a yell andregarded Geraldine with fascinated eyes.

"By God, boys," he said, "it _is_ dust!"

Geraldine fought off the crowd with both hands.

"All mine!" he cried. "Mine, boys! You voted the loot to the man whocaught the Ghost!"

"And where's the Ghost?" asked several men together.

"Geraldine," said Collins, pushing through the crowd, "if this isanother joke we'll hang you for it!"

"It's too heavy for a joke," grinned Geraldine. "I'll put the loot inyour hands, Collins, and when I show you the Ghost I'll ask for itagain."

Collins caught his shoulder in a strong grasp.

"Honest to God?" he asked. "Have you got him?"

"I have," said Geraldine, "and I'll give him to you on one ground."

"Out with it," said Collins.

"Well," said Geraldine, "when you see him you'll recognize him. He'sbeen one of us!"

"I knew it," growled Collins; "some dirty dog that lived with us andknifed us in the back all the time."

"But, remember," said Geraldine, "he never shot to kill, and that's whyyou sha'n't string him up. Is it a bargain?"

"It's a bargain," said Collins, "we'll turn him over to the sheriff. Areyou with me, boys?"

They yelled their agreement, and in thirty seconds every man who had ahorse was galloping after Collins and Geraldine. At the shrub beside thewall of the valley Geraldine drew rein, and they followed him in an awedand breathless body into the passage.

"I went out scouting on my own hook," explained Geraldine, as he wentbefore them, "and I saw the Ghost ride down the cañon and disappear inhere. I followed him."

"Followed up this passage all alone?" queried Collins.

"I did," said Geraldine.

"And what did you do to him?"

"You'll see in a minute. There was only one shot fired, and it came fromhis gun."

They turned the sharp angle and entered the lighted end of the passage.In another moment they crowded into the cave and stood staring at thetightly bound figure of Silver Pete. His eyes burned furiously into theface of Geraldine. The men swarmed about his prostrate body.

"Untie his feet, boys," said Collins, "and we'll take him back. SilverPete, you can thank your lucky stars that Geraldine made us promise toturn you over to the law."

"How did you do it?" he continued, turning to Geraldine.

"I'm not very handy with a gun," said the Ghost, "so I tackled him withmy fists. Look at that cut on his jaw. That's where I hit him!"

A little murmur of wonder passed around the group. One of them cut therope which bound Pete's ankles together, and two more dragged him to hisfeet.

"Stand up like a man, Pete," said Collins, "and thank Geraldine for notcutting out your rotten heart!"

But Silver Pete, never moving his eyes from the face of the Ghost, brokeinto a long and full-throated laugh.

"Watch him, boys!" called Collins sharply. "He's going looney! Here,Jim, grab on that side and I'll take him here. Now start down thetunnel."

Yet, as they went forward, the rumbling laugh of the gun-fighter brokeout again and again.

"I got to leave you here," said the Ghost, when they came out from themouth of the passage. "My way runs east, and I got a date at Tuxee forto-night. I'll just trouble you for that there slicker with the dust init, Collins."

Without a word the vigilance men unstrapped the heavy packet which hehad tied behind his saddle. He fastened it behind Geraldine's saddle andthen caught him by the hand.

"Geraldine," he said, "you're a queer cuss! We haven't made you out yet,but we're going to take a long look at you when you come back toMurrayville to-morrow."

"When I come back," said Geraldine, "you can look at me as long as youwish."

His eyes changed, and he laid a hand on Collins's shoulder.

"Take it from me," he said softly, "you've given me your word that theboys won't do Pete dirt. Remember, he never plugged any of you. He's gothis hands tied now, Collins, and if any of the boys try fancy stuntswith him--maybe I'll be making a quick trip back from Tuxee. Savvy?"

His eyes held Collins for the briefest moment, and then he swung intohis saddle and rode east with the farewell yells of the posse ringingafter him. By the time they were in their saddles Geraldine had topped ahill several hundred yards away and his figure was black against themoon. A wind from the east blew back his song to them faintly:

"I don't expect no bloomin' tears; The only thing I ask Is something for a monument In the way of a whisky flask."

"Look at him, boys," said Collins, turning in his saddle. "If it wasn'tfor what's happened to-night, I'd lay ten to one that that was the Ghoston the wing for his hiding-place!"